A Series of House MD Oneshots
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: Exactly as the title says. This us a series of oneshots. Predominantly if not entirely House and Wilson friendship centric and mostly Hurt/Comfort!House, with a little bit of Hurt!Wilson thrown in.
1. Pain and Pathos

**Pain and Pathos**

"Is it the leg?"

"It's always the leg!" House groaned as he stretched out on the sofa, a thin film of sweat covering his face, and his leg propped up on several plump cushions. His gaze was turned towards the television set, following the action with his evidently tired eyes, and yet his attention was not fully focused on whatever it was that he was watching. He looked exhausted.

The evening Hannah had been discharged from the hospital Wilson had shown up at House's apartment. He wasn't quite sure why he'd found himself there, ot what good it would do, but him team hadn't failed to notice that whilst their patient had been having trouble sleeping, House had been having trouble staying awake. Coupled with his increased intake of vicodin, caffeine, and sugar over the past few days this had only served to fuel Wilson's concerns, and so it was that he'd decided to pay his friend a visit at the one place where he knew House wouldn't have to hide his pain – couldn't conceal his discomfort.

"For how long?" Wilson sighed, mentally kicking himself and angry for not noticing the signs sooner. House was in pain, and had been doing his best to conceal it from them all. So far he'd been admittedly rather successful at it, and may have continued to be so if it hadn't been for the increasing amounts of vicodin which he'd been taking.

"Oh, only since the last ten years." His friend remarked sarcastically.

It wasn't as though Wilson hadn't found himself standing here, in the middle of the night, or in the early hours of the morning before – wondering what to do for the best for the sake of his best friend – and his instincts regarding House had rarely ever let him down before. He'd known House for longer than he cared to acknowledge, theirs had been a friendship which had somehow seemed to be a mutual connection from the start, despite their significant differences. They'd never had to work particularly hard at it, and perhaps that had been a good thing - perhaps that had been why it had survived the test of time and adversity.

Even before the infarction Gregory House had needed somebody to catch him when he fell – emotionally, rather than physically back then – and Wilson had always been a giving counterpart. But Wilson had realised very early on that House also cared, in his own way, and so he'd stayed through the trails, and trivialities, testing to the strength of their friendship – through the infarction, and the subsequent years which had followed. He knew House better than anybody, perhaps even better than the ageing doctor knew himself.

"I mean, how long has it been keeping you awake?" Wilson asked.

 _After he'd arrived at House's apartment he'd only knocked softly initially, but after receiving no response he'd knocked a little harder. Finally, after hearing only muffled indications that House was home – he'd thought he heard his friend's voice calling to him, precipitated by a deep groan – he'd unlocked the door with his own key and let himself into the flat._

 _That had been when he'd found him splayed out on the sofa, massaging his wounded thigh muscle – face glistening with a thin film of sweat._

House grimaced as he tried to sit up, moving his leg stiffly from the position it had been set in for the last few hours.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Wilson asked, stooping down to examine his friend's leg more closely and get a better view of his friend. He looked exhausted.

House shrugged. "Talking about it won't help my pain." He remarked matter of factly… and the sad truth was that he was right. Every day Gregory House woke up in excruciating pain; unrelenting, chronic, constant pain which could be managed but never cured - and no amount of words would ever fix that. All anyone could do was to be there for him when he needed them, and help him manage the pain as best they could – which was exactly what Wilson intended to do.

Wilson sighed. "Lets get you off this couch and into bed first shall we?" He suggested sympathetically. "Than I can give you morphine for the pain, and estazolam to help you sleep."

"Thank you." House sighed, tone barely a whisper as he looked up at Wilson with sunken and bloodshot eyes.

Wilson smiled. "Don't mention it."


	2. Not A Junkie

**Not A Junkie**

It was late on a busy weekday afternoon when Wilson showed up at the city police station. He'd been busy with patient's all day, and had finally taken a late lunch, although instead of grabbing a quick sandwich in the hospital cafeteria he had another, more important job to do today - something which had to be said, had to be made clear, and he wasn't going to leave now until he'd said what he had to say.

"Detective Tritter!" He called as he made his way over to the man's desk. The officer immediately looked up, recognising the doctor within an instant as he approached, before getting to his feet and smiling a mocking smile.

"Well, Doctor Wilson," He responded, "what can I do for you?"

"Look, why are you doing this? What do you hope to achieve?" Wilson demanded.

"I hope to stop a drug addict." He spoke simply in response. "I hope to teach the man that he's maybe not all as important and untouchable as he would have himself think… I hope perhaps to save lives!"

"He saves lives, every single day!" Wilson exclaimed.

"Yes… but for how long?" Tritter asked.

"You were screwed by a junkie once, I get that…" Wilson sighed, "but have you ever had to stand back and watch as your best friend endures excruciating pain, months of painful and, quite frankly pointless, physical therapy… being called round to their apartment at all unearthly hours in the morning to administer a morphine shot to a man who can't do it for himself because he's in too much pain to even move… so much that the Vicodin can't even touch it?" He asked.

"A junkie is still a junkie… and you're an accessory!" Tritter warned.

"Tell me, have you ever had to distract a friend from an MRI scan which could determine the whole course of his future… whether he simply carrys on as he has been, getting by, only barely coping from day to day, or whether a future of even more excruciating pain awaits him? Have you had to put up with their bad mood swings, the bitterness, regret, anger? Watch as he pushes everyone whose ever cared about him away until there's only yourself and a few others left to pick them back up again when they fall? To stand back and take it as he takes all his pain, fear and frustration out on you?" Wilson demanded.

"Then why do you?" Tritter asked, casually sorting through a pile of files and paperwork on his desk, averting Wilson's gaze and refusing to engage in emotional confrontation. Words were easy, uncomplicated - emotions were much harder and much more complex to deal with. "You could just walk away." He demanded.

Wilson looked appalled, shaking his head in a repulsed response to this. "Then I wouldn't be much of a friend." He returned.

Tritter leaned forward, threateningly, across his desk, so that he was barely a few inches away from Wilson's face. "If I wasn't doing my job, I wouldn't be much of an officer." He said.

"Has he ever tried to explain the true extremity of his pain to you?" Wilson asked. "Would you know what it's like to experience the extreme weakness of a limb which can barely support the weight of every step you take… which could give way at any moment and without any warning… the excruciating pain produced by even the slightest movement, or on a really bad day, the barely perceptible weight of your pants leg lightly brushing up against severely scarred skin. Would you even listen?"

"Yeah!" Tritter argued. "Good days, merely intolerable. Bad days, which would suck the life force out of you… he was in here a few days ago." He explained, faltering for the first time in response to Wilson's confused stare. "It doesn't make any difference." He shook his head. "Not to me… I've given him all the chances I'm prepared to give… more than he deserves… it's up to the courts to decide now."

"If he's an addict it's because he's in pain!" Wilson exclaimed.

"He's an addict… and nothing else matters!" Tritter glared, bringing an end to the conversation.

"You're wrong! He's not the man you think he is." Wilson shook his head, before turning to leave. "You'd ruin a man's life just to prove a point? You're no better than whoever you've made him out to be!" He snarled as he left the room.

"I hope you're right Doctor Wilson." Tritter nodded, eyebrows raised threateningly in Wilson's wake. "For your sake as well as his, I hope you're right."


	3. Road To Self Destruction

**Road To Self Destruction**

"You risked your life..." Wilson sighed as he exited his office to find House seated on his recliner upon the adjacent balcony. His head was lolled to one side and his eyes were closed, but his bad leg was stretched out before him, and Wilson could clearly make out the fingers massaging the wounded thigh muscle beneath the blanket draped over his knees – indicating that he was clearly awake.

He'd taken something to counteract the effects of the drugs causing the migraine attack earlier in the evening – but the fact that he was still out here at this time of night suggested that he was still suffering from some lingering effects.

The skies above were dark, and there was a cool early evening breeze blowing which soothed the throbbing in his cranium – but as Wilson spoke he opened his eyes and turned in the direction from where his friend's voice came.

"No," House shook his head – regretting it immediately – as he made eye contact. "I risked my life to save lives, isn't that what doctors do? Save lives I mean... not risk theirs."

"You risked your life to prove a point!" Wilson sighed – exasperated – as he struggled to clear the metal barrier separating House's balcony from his own. He only made it halfway before getting stuck, but House made no attempt to help him as he proceeded to watch his best friend struggle – before rapidly losing interest once Wilson had successfully negotiated the bar.

"I was right though wasn't I?" He asked, as the young oncologist made his way over to his side. "The guy's drug clearly doesn't do what it says on the label. Furthermore I doubt it's even safe for human use."

"That's irrelevant." Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose – this was clearly not going to get them anywhere.

"It's fraud." The older doctor frowned – and Wilson could tell that he was clearly attempting to goad him into an ethical debate, which Wilson was determined not to give into.

"Since when have you ever paid any heed to the law?" He asked.

"Since... I nearly died!"

"House," Wilson sighed, as he placed his hands on his hips and towered over his friend in an attempt to make himself appear as disinterested by the proceedings as possible – despite the nagging whispers of concern which had led him to go in search of the older man in the first place, "aren't we blowing things up a little out of proportion here? Your body had an adverse molecular reaction to an unapproved, unlicensed, untested drug which you wilfully injected yourself with – knowing damn well the risks – I'm afraid that it wouldn't stand up in a court of law."

"Who said anything about a court of law?" House asked with mock innocence. "I didn't set out to incarcerate the guy, just to get even with him... I wanted to discredit him, disgrace him... now I've had my fill he'll never have to see me again."

"Well, that's alright then," Wilson remarked sarcastically, "and remarkably benevolent of you considering you've just ruined the guys trial, and a reputation it probably took him years to build up!"

But he received no response.

"How're you feeling?" He finally asked after House showed no sign of making any attempt to fill the silence which had elapsed between them.

"Well, my heads not hanging off and there's no blood dripping from my ear." He quipped. "So I'm guessing everything's still intact."

"Need a ride home?" Wilson asked.

"I've got the bike." He explained.

"But do you honestly feel like riding it?" Wilson frowned.

House shook his head… no, 'to be honest probably not' he thought.

He didn't even need to think about his response for very long – they both knew how the evening was going to turn out so there seemed little point in delaying the inevitable. Wilson would give House a ride home, cook them both some dinner, or grab a takeaway on the way – at his own expense – and then stay to make sure that his friend really was as alright as he claimed to be, before falling asleep on the sofa. It was a fairly common place series of circumstances between the two of them but both still seemed to feel the need to follow the same ritualistic series of anxious questioning and answering sarcastic retorts before Wilson finally offered his support and House accepted his friend's assistance.

"Think you can move?" Wilson asked, wondering just how long his friend had been out here – but true to form House simply nodded defiantly, reaching for his cane as the young man helped him to his feet. Wilson had to steady his friend slightly as he stood. House stumbled slightly but didn't fall.

"You ok?" Wilson frowned. He couldn't help the concern which was etched into his tight expression and which leaked into his tone as he spoke.

"Yeah, just a little dizzy." House explained.

Wilson sighed.

"Lean on me." He offered and took the bulk of the other man's small weight as he spoke. House instinctively leaned into the warm body supporting him – just as he had done many times before.

"And next time you decide to self-destruct." Wilson continued with a frustrated sigh as he reiterated his words of earlier that same day. "Try asking yourself whether it's all really worth it, and spare a thought for the poor best friend who has to give up his evening to take care of you when it all goes wrong!"


	4. I'm Not Gonna Lose Ya

**I'm Not Gonna Lose Ya**

"Greg?" House turned suddenly at the unusual use of his forename… more surprisingly so the abbreviated use of a name which was seldomley ever used – especially as he now found himself in an apartment which wasn't even his own. The voice took him by surprise, and as he swivelled round on the spot it was to stare in disbelief at the figure of the man now standing before him - Wilson.

"James…" He sighed, "I thought you were going to the funeral…"

"I figured I was needed more here." Wilson replied. "You didn't fail him Greg!" Wilson shook his head. His tone was silky, reassuring even, and House realised that it was a tone which Wilson normally reserved for his patients.

"I failed to notice anything out of the ordinary… I failed to notice something, anything, which might have saved him!" House snapped angrily, although it was quite clear that he was angry with himself, not Wilson.

"Kutner kept us _all_ in the dark Greg…" Wilson explained, trying to get through to his grieving friend, "…hiding from us, lying to us. He'd had years of practice, and experience… and he was good at what he did!" He sighed.

"It's my fault…" House faltered, but with this Wilson silenced him, adamant in his conviction in what he was about to say.

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this!" He insisted. "None of this was your…"

"I failed to do my job! I let him down… It's my fault!" House exclaimed.

"Kutner wouldn't want you to blame yourself." Wilson spoke gently.

"Wouldn't he?" House demanded. "How do you know Wilson? How do you know when he was evidently so good at keeping _everything_ from us? Did we ever really know him? How do you know that this isn't _exactly_ what he would have wanted?"

"Because he admired you." Wilson sighed. "Pitty knows why, but he wanted to be like you… he _was_ like you in so many ways… and maybe that was the problem. In the end you weren't able to spot anything, because… he was too much like you…"

"I'm…sorry…" House gasped; his eyes were bloodshot with the tears he'd been fighting to suppress, and the stricken doctor stumbled on his cane as Wilson made his way forward to pull him into a tight embrace.

The doctor was uncharacteristically accepting of this gesture of comfort – allowing himself to be drawn into his best friend's arms, and held there as he cried into Wilson's shoulder. The Oncologist knew that he would probably pay for his sentiment later, but for now he could tell that what his friend needed most of all was reassurance – and although Gregory House would normally be too afraid to accept such offers of emotional support from his friends, Wilson was not too afraid to provide him with a comforting word and a shoulder to cry on. He'd been dealing with House for years... he could handle whatever the consequences of such an act might be later.

"I'm, sorry." He cried… tears by now rolling down his cheeks, although unseen by Wilson. Wilson could feel their salty ambiance soaking his shoulder.

"You're not losing your gift." Wilson reassured him, as with this and to his surprise he became aware that House hesitated slightly – before wrapping his own shaking arms around his friend's waist. "And I'm not going to lose you." He added. "House, you're human… we all make mistakes… we all miss things… and sometimes there's just nothing there to miss! You were not to blame!"

"Forgive me…" House faltered, and Wilson realised that at that moment in time this was what his friend needed more than anything else. He sighed, as far as he was concerned there was nothing to forgive, but House was suffering and he had to say something.

"I forgive you." He replied, and as House gradually started to withdraw from Wilson's embrace – looking slightly ashamed by his uncharacteristic display as the emotional barriers were finally replaced – Wilson thought that he heard his friend mutter something one last time before he silently turned away.

"Thank You." House whispered.


	5. I Don't Blame

**I Don't Blame**

"Where's House?" Amber asked, "He was on the bus with me… is he alright?"

"House…sustained a skull fracture." Wilson explained. "Longitudinal fracture to the temporal bone…"

"He didn't come to see me." Amber frowned at Wilson's expression as he spoke – the man she loved above all other… the man she would have married. "The others… they all came to see me…but House… why didn't he come to say goodbye?"

"Because, he can't." Wilson shook his head. Noticing Amber's expression change from one of gentle – final – acceptance into one of fear and alarm, and considering having to explain the situation to her, he finally decided that she had a right to know. More than anybody else, and more than any compassionate desire which he had to protect her, she of all people had a right to know.

"House…knew there was something more wrong with you… he saw you take the pills on the bus… but, he couldn't remember enough about the accident to figure it out for himself." Wilson explained. "I… I asked him to try deep brain stimulation… He'd suggested it… but he… he suffered a complex partial seizure during the procedure, widening the fracture in his skull and causing his brain to bleed…he's in a coma!"

"Don't blame him Jimmy..." Amber smiled, squeezing Wilson's hand affectionately with a reassuring tightness. "It's not his fault… I… I made the decision to take the pills."

"Yes…but he called you…"

"He called _you_." Amber corrected him.

"Yes…but if he hadn't you wouldn't have gone out to collect him… you wouldn't have been on the bus." Wilson faltered, stroking Amber's soft blonde hair lovingly, trying to hold onto the moment, and as much of the woman he loved for as long as was possible.

"But House still might have been…" Amber remarked meekly, nestling her head deeper into Wilson's shoulder – her lover's tears soaked her pillow as he kissed her delicately on the corner of her dry and cracked lips.

"You really liked him didn't you?" Wilson asked.

"I admired him… as a doctor." Amber admitted weakly. "But you…you're his friend… you have something remarkable…" She explained softly. "He trusts you… he's let you in."

Wilson sighed at this, but remained silent.

"He's you're best friend… he needs you…more than I ever did." She smiled.

"And I need you!" Wilson sobbed.

"No…"Amber shook her head."You don't…" She whispered. "You'll find a way to get through this." She smiled, before adding, "I don't blame him James."

Wilson didn't respond.

"I love you." She smiled.

"I love you to." He replied.

"I'm tired…" She sighed, and Wilson nodded. "I think it's time to go to sleep." She explained, and Wilson's expression suddenly contracted into one of intense pain and grief.

"Just a little longer." He cried.

"We're always going to want a little longer." She explained.

"I don't think I can do it…" He choked, and she watched as the tears began to flow hard and fast from her lover's dark brown eyes, soaking his beautiful face.

"It's ok." She reassured him gently.

"It's not ok… why is it ok with you?" Wilson sniffed. "Why aren't you angry?"

"That's not… the last feeling… I want to experience." She explained, her tone a whisper – as much from her own pain and weakness as for her love of the man now laying before her – and as the two's eyes met they gazed affectionately and deeply back at each other for several long seconds… seconds which felt like minutes, but which could just as easily have been hours... and yet this was still not long enough as they savoured their final moment together.

Finally Wilson smiled, cupping Amber's face delicately within the gentle palms of his hands, and planting a loving and passionate kiss upon her lips; a kiss which she returned as much as she could… the last kiss they'd share… before reaching over and turning off her life support…

The last thing she saw was the sight of the man she loved smiling back at her, before peacefully fading away… and Wilson finally allowed the tears to flow heavy and fast, unrepressed, as he realised the woman he loved – a woman he'd never stop loving – had left him forever.


	6. Breathe

**Breathe**

Wilson watched as House gasped for breath, struggling for air.

"You stopped breathing!" He frowned, expression brimming with concern.

"What the hell is going on?" Cuddy demanded, however Wilson could tell that House was in no fit state to answer any of her questions. He watched House helplessly as he continued to fight for breath, wincing as he drew the cool air into his evidently aching lungs.

"Wilson?" He gasped before paling, and his complexion took on an unhealthy pale hew as his tone became a low groan.

"Ummm House?" Wilson asked, recognising the tell tale signs of nausea in his best friend's face, before noticing the waste paper bin in the corner of the room, adjacent to House's desk. Unfortuantly it was too far for him to reach, and it would already be too late by the time he'd made it halfway across the room. House was about to empty his guts all over his office carpet.

Cuddy, whose own concerned gaze had quickly flickered from House's blanched features to Wilson and back again now followed Wilson's gaze – herself having noticed the Head of Diagnostics sudden deterioration and realising immediately what it meant. Making an urgent dash for the far corner of the room she immediately tipped the contents of the waste paper bin onto the floor next to House's desk and thrust it under his chin, keeping a firm hold of it as House vomited several times into the bin. He was still gasping for breath.

"I need a respiration kit in here!" Wilson called quickly to anybody in the room who would listen to him, pressing three fingers to the side of House's neck to feel for his pulse. He then placed his palm gently to his friend's bare chest, and an ear to his mouth as he heard the raged breathing and felt the rapid rise and fall of House's ribcage. "Oxygen mask, and my bag!"

"Mmmmm… alright…" House mumbled in between deep gasps for air, and batting away both Wilson and Cuddy's concerned and probing hands as they continued to try to keep a check of the pulse in both the neck and his wrists. His lungs ached, his ribs ached, he still felt somewhat light-headed – but maybe that was because he was starting to hyperventilate – and his chest was starting to feel increasingly tight.

"House," Wilson explained. "You're tacyacardic, you're not alright! You're pulse is thready, and none of us have any idea how long you stopped breathing for! Now for once in your life just let us help you!"

"I'll go." Kutner volunteered. House shot him a warning look, despite the fact that he realised immediately that this was a futile attempt when, in his distress, his expression resembled something more akin to a desperate plea rather than any real hint of threat or menace. He immediately became aware of a rush of frantic activity going on around him as Foreman followed the young intern urgently to the door.

"I'll go fetch Wilson's bag from his office." The doctor explained as he followed Kutner from the room. "You go to the nurse's station, bring the respiration kit, and oxygen."

Then everything went black as House's eyelids started to grow heavy, alternating between open and closed as he allowed a fog of encroaching exhaustion to overtake him. The sound of heavy, rapid breathing continued to grate in his ears, but it took him a moment to recognise it to be his own.

The next few minutes passed in a blur as he heard the office door close behind the two men. House tried squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of unconsciousness which threatened to envelop him – but which he found he wouldn't quite succumb to, no matter how much he tried. He thought he heard indistinguishable voices calling his name… Wilson's… Cuddy's… a harsh slap against his cheek as he teetered on the threshold unconsciousness.

At some stage during the proceedings he heard the office door open and close again, and heavy footsteps return. Somebody grabbed hold of his legs, straightening them out upon the recliner, and sending a wave of excruciating pain shooting through his damaged leg. The motion prompted him to cry out as another pair of hands stabilised his head. He opened his eyes slightly, allowing him to at least observe what was going on around him through a thin opening between two rolls of skin and muscle. The pale but bright sheen of daylight pierced his retinas. He could see that Wilson had now positioned himself directly behind his head. His friend looked down at him – concerned, although still managing to retain his composure despite the situation. Then House's eyes suddenly rolled, and his vision yet again went black as his pupils folded into the back of his head.

Suddenly he felt the sensation of something being heavily clamped over his mouth and nose, and of air being literally forced into his lungs. He hadn't realised how difficult he'd being finding it to breath until now; although with each breath of air he now took the tightness in his chest eased, his head became less fuzzy and his vision cleared – finally he found himself able to breathe more freely of his own accord.

Meanwhile as House's breathing eased Wilson placed two fingers to the side of his neck, keeping a close check on his friend's pulse, until finally he felt it return to a relatively normal rhythm, and he felt confident enough to replace the respiration kit with the oxygen mask. He smiled and sighed with relief as House finally sat up, resting his back against the back of the recliner and glancing around at each member of the small group now surrounding him. Thirteen and Taub had also by now made an appearance he noticed, staring around in quiet alarm at his side.

"He'll be fine!" Wilson finally concluded to the rest of the onlookers, as Cuddy returned the reassuring gesture. They both watched as House continued to take some deep breaths.

She sighed before turning on her Head of Diagnostics in both her anger and concern. "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?" She demanded.

 **...**

Wilson followed as his friend left the office a while later, quickly but gently grabbing House by the elbow and leading him in the opposite direction. He'd refused quite adamantly to provide any explanation for what had just happened once his team had departed, leaving just Wilson and Cuddy alone with House in his office. House had preferred to brush the incident off, which was only to be expected, and so was not entirely surprising. They were after all dealing with House! But both Wilson and Cuddy shared a mutual concern for the hospital's Head of Diagnostics, and Wilson was determined to get some answers. He wanted to get to the bottom of what had just happened and make quite sure that his friend really was as alright as he claimed – not prepared to just take House's word for it!

House sighed, "I've got a patient to see too!" He reminded Wilson in a flat, disinterested tone. Wilson could tell that he could see that there was no point in arguing, but was somewhat surprised that he wasn't even going to try.

"House! You could have died!" He explained. "You may not have allowed Cuddy to examine you, but I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm convinced that you're well enough!"

House sighed as Wilson continued to lead him down the corridor. He didn't observe Cuddy watching them, her hands on her hips and her eyes following them with concern, scrutinising House as they went.

 **...**

"So, what's the verdict _doctor_?" House asked, emphasising this last word sarcastically as he looked back at Wilson with tired eyes.

"BP's good, heart and lungs sound relatively healthy all things considering, pulse is gradually getting back to normal," Wilson finally concluded, throwing the stethoscope he'd been using to check his friend's heart rate and lungs over his shoulders, "and Cuddy said that she couldn't see any sign of brain damage…"

As he spoke he flicked the light of his small torch quickly from one to the other of House's bloodshot eyes. "Pupils are responsive and equal." He concluded. "You should be fine."

"So, can I get back to work now?" He asked.

Wilson rolled his eyes, eyebrows raised as he shrugged despairingly. "Well I have no reason to keep you." He sighed. "But I would strongly recommend that you take it easy for the rest of the day at least."

"Great!" House exclaimed, completely ignoring his friend's recommendation as he leapt up rather stiffly from the leather couch in Wilson's office and hobbled towards the door. The characteristic defiance and sarcastic twinkle returned now to his eye as he retrieved his cane with a surprising stretch of mobility, before preparing himself for some witty retort in response to any objections which his friend may have to this decision.

Wilson didnt know why he bothered sometimes. Trying to get through to House was like attempting to draw blood from a stone.

"Just… promise me you'll let me know if you start to experience any more difficulty in breathing, any dizziness, light-headedness, headaches, nausea… you know the drill." He asked. "Or I'm admitting you now for observation." He added; a serious edge to his tone.

"On what grounds?" House scoffed.

"Under the perfectly reasonable grounds that YOU STOPED BREATHING!" Wilson responded, emphasizing the last three words in his frustration and evidently growing impatience.

"I know, you told me!" House responded, rolling his eyes dramatically. Wilson didn't understand why the man didn't seem at all concerned that he had nearly died.

"I'll see you later." He sighed.

"Why?" House asked suspiciously. "Are you going to be checking up on me?"

"For crying out loud House, I'm your friend! I'm concerned!" He exclaimed in his exasperation – but managed to bite his tongue as he observed the look upon his friend's face.

"Listen, I'll take you out to dinner?" He offered – surprised that House said nothing for a moment as he appeared to be simply considering Wilson's offer – before the slightly older man finally nodded in agreement.

"What?" Wilson asked as House opened the door to leave, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "No sarcastic comment? No witty retort? Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Fine." House smiled. "I'll see you later."… and with that he'd closed the door behind him and was gone.


	7. I'll Be There

**I'll Be There**

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier? I could have helped you!" Wilson exclaimed.

"I was scared…"

"Well, that's understandable…but as I've told you before, increased pain doesn't necessarily…"

"I was scared of losing you!"

"Losing me? House what are you talking about?"

"I make people miserable, because I'm miserable…" House sighed. "Stacey left me after the infarction because I made her unhappy as a cripple, you left me… after Amber… I could see that you couldn't even bare to be near me…"

"Oh, House, I was grieving… I've already told you that I don't blame you…"

"You didn't visit me once in the hospital… for God's sake, you only worked down the hall… you didn't return any of my phone calls…"

"Cuddy gave me compassionate leave, for crying out loud, I was hardly working House, I'd just lost the woman that I loved… besides I did."

"When?" He demanded.

"You were asleep… and I was always kept fully briefed about your case by Cuddy. I heard about every move you made, every small sign of improvement… I never left you House… it... it just hurt to look at you!"

"You weren't there though, and Chase was there for me at a time when I didn't know who to turn to for help… they might only have been a few pills, but they were better than nothing, and they helped!" House explained.

"Well, I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere!" Wilson assured him.

"You can't promise me that! What about when your next girlfriend dies? What happens then?" House asked, tone oozing its usual sarcasm… although Wilson could tell that this was just a mask for his pain.

"House I promise. We've been through a lot over the years, more than I ever thought possible. I've seen you through the infarction, Stacey, years of addiction… and I'm not saying that I approve, but I understand your reasons for taking the pills… sometimes it's just a little overwhelming, but you're my best friend, and I'll be there to help you through!"

"Promise?" He faltered.

"Promise…" He reassured him, "and I'll always be there on the other side of it all to see you through again, and again, and again... because whatever it takes, I'm not going anywhere!"


	8. Just A Stomach Ache

**Just A Stomach Ache**

It was the early hours of a weekday morning when Wilson was suddenly woken by a phone call from House – his friend, and colleague – his best friend. He reached for the lamp, and looked at his watch – squinting as the sudden brightness of the light hurt his eyes – before reaching for his mobile on the bedside table to take the call.

"House?" He asked, as he answered. "It's the middle of the night."

His friend's voice spoke out to him on the other end of the line.

"Wilson… I need your help… something's wrong…"

"Is it the leg?" Wilson asked, immediately concerned. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd been called out to his friend's apartment in the middle of the night as a result of his severe leg pain… and it probably wouldn't be the last. He was well accustomed to it…

"No… it's my stomach… the pains really bad…" The older doctor grimaced.

"You woke me up in the middle of the night for a stomach ache?" Wilson sighed, annoyed.

"Wilson, this is a little more than just a stomach ache…" House winced audibly down the phone.

"Then, take some vicodin, and get some sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better by the morning." He advised.

"The vicodin's not working."

"House… it's the middle of the night. I'm not coming out to you."

"Ouch, mommy, it hurts." The older doctor cried out – it was a rather over dramatic gesture, although Wilson detected the edge of discomfort to his tone, suggesting that he was at least for the most part telling the truth.

"I'm not coming out to you House."

"I need something stronger."

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Fine, go back to sleep, but we both know how this is going to turn out."

"I'm hanging up on you House."

"You'll put the phone down on me, then lie awake for the next half an hour imagining all sorts of scenarios playing out over here… whilst I lie awake, suffering… in pain…"

"I'm going back to bed House…"

"I give you an hour tops before you crack."

"Goodnight House."

"Goodnight Wilson."

As Wilson put the phone down however, switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness once more he turned over onto his side and attempted to get back to sleep... but his mind started to wonder. His conscience already beginning to prick at him…

'He wasn't going out to House's place this late at night though… he wouldn't be at House's beck and call… that would just reinforce the fact in House's mind that he could call upon Wilson whenever something didn't go right in his life… no matter what time of the day or night…'

But what if he really was sick?

He hadn't looked too healthy earlier that afternoon either, and by the time they'd both come to leave the hospital after their shift had finished that evening he had been looking a little peaky, even slightly pale perhaps.

He's body had been subjected to quite an ordeal that day, his system flooded with potentially contaminated blood, not to mention the narcotics, his reaction to the blood transfusion, and the biopsy… it was bound to have had an effect on him…

… and then it could all potentially be just a simple stomach ache… indigestion, trapped wind, a twenty four hour bug…

'It was just a stomach ache…' he told himself, 'he wasn't getting up this late at night for just a stomach ache…'

Wilson sighed.

"I suppose I'd better go and check on him…" He said to himself, as he threw the duvet from over him and sat up, shivering slightly. He changed quickly, in a blur of frustration… why couldn't he just let House's pleading lie? Why did he always have to interfere? Why did he allow House to wrap him around his little finger…

… but deep down Wilson already knew the answer, House needed him and he couldn't turn his back on that.

Remembering to grab his medical bag and throw it on the back seat of his car before heading for House's flat, he shivered as the cold early morning breeze chilled him to the bone, the icy air biting at his legs and torso. He turned the car radiator up to full blast.

By the time he finally reached House's apartment however his frustration and slight annoyance of before had gradually faded to be replaced by concern for his friend. He let himself in using his key, before switching the sitting room light on, and tossing his keys onto the coffee table as he passed.

"House?" He called.

"I knew you would crack…" He heard his friend mumble from the direction of the bathroom, and immediately made his way in the direction from where he'd heard his voice.

As he pushed the door open however, he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. House was sat, his back up against the bath, head resting on the toilet boil, pale and sweating.

"Told you it was more than just a stomach ache." House murmured in response to the look of horror on Wilson's face.

"How long have you been like this?" He asked, as he immediately bent down beside his friend. He placed a cool palm against his forehead to check his temperature, before proceeding to roll up his sleeve and placing two fingers against the veins in House's wrist in order to check his pulse.

"It's been getting progressively worse all day…" House sighed. "But worse since we left the hospital."

"Well, your pulse is steady, temperature's normal…" Wilson sighed with relief. "I'd say it's nothing serious. Probably just a result of the biopsy."

"Brilliant diagnosis Doctor." House rolled his eyes sarcastically. "No shit!"

"House, did you call me here to treat you?" Wilson asked. "Or just to whinge about your pain?"

"I brought you here to treat my pain!"

"I'll give you morphine to help with the pain, a hot water bottle will probably help relieve some of the discomfort, and sleeping pills to help you sleep… I'll stay here for tonight." Wilson frowned. "We really need to get you off this floor…"

"I can't…" House groaned however, with some embarrassment. "My leg's seized up!"

Wilson sighed… this was going to be a long night.

An hour later Wilson sat alone in the sitting room, a blanket draped over his knees, and the television on – although the volume was turned down as low as was physically audible so as not to disturb his friend. He'd managed to settle House back in bed, and the slightly older doctor was now sleeping soundly… although he couldn't help but feel resentful of the fact that he was now the one losing sleep, as it now fell to him to sort out the repercussions of somebody else's actions… and not for the first time. This was after all, for once, not House's fault… and he couldn't help but think that it should be House's team here right now dealing with the consequences of their own actions.


	9. Reconciliation

**Reconciliation**

As Wilson opened his eyes in the recovery room the first person he saw, perched on the edge of the empty bed beside him, was House - and he smiled weakly. It was something of a relief to Wilson that he should be the first person he should see, although he'd never been able to completely bring himself to believe that House would abandon him at a time when he needed a friend more than ever before.

"How are you feeling?" House asked.

"Sore…"

"Well if you will go cutting out chunks of your vital organs." House remarked, a failed attempt at sarcasm…

Wilson could tell that his friend's heart wasn't really in it, as he fidgeted around awkwardly on the bed, suggesting that either his leg had seized up or there was something more that he wanted to say, but couldn't think of how to say it - and as he was showing no sign of experiencing any more pain than usual Wilson thought it best to wait, and allow House to say what it was that was troubling him, when he was ready to do so, and how he chose to express what was on his mind. It didn't take long.

"I'm sorry." He finally sighed. "I didn't mean what I said."

Wilson frowned.

"I was scared of losing you…" House elaborated. "As if it wasn't obvious, I didn't want to end up alone… and then I got to thinking, would you do the same for me if I was dying?"

"Of course I would." Wilson exclaimed, rubbing his abdomen, and grimacing with this sudden gesture. "You're a self important, arrogant, stubborn, infuriating git at times House… but you're also my best friend, and I'd give a lobe of every organ I had if I thought it could save your life."

"And then I got to thinking… I'm a selfish ass Wilson, you've already sacrificed almost everything you have for me; your marriage, and risked so much more; your career, your reputation, your friends… I had no right to say what I said to you, what's more I had no reasonable basis for it… except fear… and fear is totally irrational, not a reasonable basis for anything."

Wilson sighed, rolling his eyes in a dramatic gesture, although it was all in good humour. He realised that House was doing his best. "I've never looked at it that way before, but now that you put it like that, you really know how to kick a man whilst he's down House."

"I'm not very good at this, I know… I'm sorry." House sighed apologetically, feeling somewhat frustrated by his inability to successfully communicate what he wanted to say. "But I figured I owe you one."

Wilson nodded, reaching out his hand to cautiously touch House's arm in a gesture of reassurance that he'd said the right thing, and was somewhat surprised when House reached over to squeeze Wilson's hand sympathetically – smiling.

"Thank you." Wilson smiled, before closing his eyes, and allowing the medication to carry him away gently into a peaceful slumber – content in the knowledge that finally House had done the right thing.


	10. Reflections Of The Old House

**Reflections of the Old House**

" _Hi dad."_

Wilson smiled as he heard House's whispered words in the next room.

" _I think I've been focusing on the wrong thing."_

Finally House was beginning to talk, cleanse himself of at least some of the pain which had been eating him up over the last few years.

" _There were super times."_

He was beginning to focus on the other memories, of the good times which he'd long ago started to repress… and hopefully, in time, these might bring him some relief, and perhaps too some much needed happiness.

But it wasn't going to be easy, breaking down the barriers and the habits which it had taken him years, perhaps nearly a lifetime to build up.

"Wilson!" Wilson almost laughed as he heard House call out to him… but at least he was trying. "This is stupid!"

"You see," Wilson smiled in relief, at the well remembered image of Amber lying next to him, "He really is getting better."

For in that moment Wilson could see reflections of the old House, of the man he'd known before the infarction… and although he knew that his friend would never be exactly the same again – he would after all always have excruciating daily pain to endure – he was at least now taking the first few tentative steps on his road to recovery.


	11. One New Message

**One New Message**

" _You've reached Doctor Lisa Cuddy. Sorry that I can't take your call at the moment, but please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you."_

"Cuddy…" House faltered weakly. "I'm dying… I've done something really stupid… even by my own standards this time… you were my last hope… nobody else would answer me… and by the time anyone finds me, I know it will be too late. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I'm sorry… sorry that I ever hurt you… sorry that I hurt myself… and that… I never stopped loving you. Don't… don't blame yourself… I don't blame you for leaving me… and let's face it, it was never going to last forever… but it was nice to think that I could change… it was nice to have somebody else believe in me… believe that I could change too.

I don't want to die… I was just trying to make everything alright again… but I've been such a fool. Please, don't let Rachel see me like this… send Wilson… or Foreman… they'll understand… it's not right that anyone should have to find me this way… but especially not that little girl…

I've let you all down, I know… I know I've pushed you all away over the years, you, Wilson, and Stacy. It's all been my fault… but you can't know what it's been like over the past few years… waking up in such excruciating pain everyday, and knowing that you did it to yourself… that there was only myself to blame…

Pain can do horrible things to a person… it can make you bitter… and it made me angry with the world…

You have to realise… it's so much easier to hate yourself if you feel as though there's nobody else left who cares… but I never stopped loving you… even though you broke my heart… perhaps now you can find someone else… someone whose kind, and cares about children, and puppies, and fluffy little bunnies… someone who won't leave the toilet seat up… who'll bring you breakfast in bed, and buy chocolates for your birthday, and won't need an excuse to buy you flowers… someone who loves you, and who you deserve…

… but please, never forget for one single moment, that I _did_ love you…"

House hung up… he couldn't face talking anymore – words were cheap, actions were what really counted, and he'd left it far too late for that. More blood oozed out from the wound between his fingers, and he noticed the bath was, by now, pooling with the deep crimson fluid.

He reached again for his phone, searching his contacts for a familiar and friendly name in a sea of people he'd managed to alienate over the years – punching the dial button once he'd found the one name he'd been looking for, in a last ditch attempt to save his own life.

It was a couple of minutes later before Wilson finally answered – his tone bleary and full of sleep.

"This had better be good House." He snapped.

"Wilson…" House faltered weakly. "Please… I think I'm dying… I think I've done a really stupid thing…"

 **...**

When Cuddy awoke the next morning she had two new messages on her answering machine. One was from House – the contents of which broke her heart – and the other was a shattering message from Wilson, letting her know in broken tones that House had died in the night.

"…he wasn't alone…" Wilson's voice broke on the other end of the receiver, as Cuddy let herself crumple back down onto the bed, torn apart bit numb with her own sudden sense of grief. "I sat up with him all night… cancer they said it was… he'd tried to remove it himself… but by the time I got to him it was already too late… he'd lost too much blood…

He asked me to tell you that he loved you… that he was sorry for all he'd put you through over the years…

He said to tell you that you'd always been his rock… he told me that I'd always be his best friend… and he made me promise to look after you…"

Suddenly Wilson broke down, overwhelmed by the upheavals of his own chest, and the heavy flow of tears.

"I'm sorry Cuddy… I can't do this…" He sobbed. "I'm sorry…"

… and it was there that the message abruptly ended, as Wilson hung up – suddenly cut short, as had been House's life.

 **...**

A few weeks later a memorial service was held, attended by only a small selection of people – they'd all gathered to say goodbye to a man they'd all gained a new respect for over the past few weeks…

…and at the forefront of the ceremony were Cuddy and Wilson, the man's lover and his best friend – the two people who'd meant the most to House in life, who'd been last on his mind in near death, and whose lives would never be quite the same again now that he was gone.


	12. Everybody Dies

**Everybody Dies**

Dominika placed a gentle hand upon her husband's shoulder, bringing him out of his gentle contemplation, and as their eyes met she forced a smile – encouraging him to find the strength from within himself to face the day ahead.

"It's time to go." She explained, flattening the creases from his suite and straightening his ashen tie before wiping the silent tears from his pale cheek and pecking him delicately upon his cold forehead. As she pulled away from him she took him gently by the hand, but House made no attempt to move.

"I… I can't do this Dominika…" He faltered with a shake of his head, voice quaking slightly as his whole body shivered beneath her touch. She squeezed his hand gently beneath her own small palm, but House simply slipped his hand away from hers and turned away. "I… I'm not ready to say goodbye…" He explained.

"Few of us ever are when the time comes." She sighed gently. "But nothing lasts forever. Everybody dies. We all have to learn to say goodbye to the ones we love."

"Dominika… there's something I haven't told you…" House sniffed, refusing to look his young wife in the face as he spoke the words which had plagued and haunted him for the past few weeks – words which he'd so desperately wanted to tell Wilson in the days before the dreaded 'C' word had raised its ugly head, and after which even he had realised he could never place such a burden upon a dying man.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the letters." He apologised. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I was afraid that you would leave me… and… and I didn't want to be alone."

"It doesn't matter." She shook her head with a meek smile. "What you did was wrong, but…"

"I'm dying…" House whispered. It was a confession, delivered on a barely audible breath, but a bombshell big enough to stop Dominica dead in her tracks, palm outstretched towards her husband's cheek. At the same time House felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

"What?" She asked.

House sighed.

"My liver's shot." He explained softly. "I've known a few weeks… my team, they suspected something was wrong, but I wasn't ready to face the truth. I preferred to do what I always do, bury my head in the sand… but the years of popping vicodin like sugar pills have finally caught up with me… it seems my liver couldn't take anymore…"

"Are… are you sure?" Dominica asked.

House nodded.

"But… is there nothing they can do?" She frowned. "Surely? You're a doctor!"

"Even if there was I'm not even sure I have the strength to carry on anymore." House shook his head, before turning to look at her, noticing the tears now glistening in his young wife's eyes – she did care after all. "Not after this. I'm not sure I want to live another twenty years without Jimmy. I wasn't a particularly good friend to him when he was alive, I was never there for him when he needed me… but it's only now that he's gone that I'm beginning to realise that he was probably the best damn friend I could ever have hoped to have…

But that's all irrelevant now anyway, because there's nothing anyone can do, the damage is too extensive… I'm going to die…"

"How long?" Dominika asked.

House shrugged non-comitantly, and the young woman could tell that her husband had already lost his fight for life.

"A few months…" He explained. "Maybe slightly less. The doctor's suggested that coming off the vicodin might give me a little longer, but not a lot, and I don't want to spend my last few months in pain…"

"Then, I'll stay…" She whispered.

"No!" House protested vehemently, taking her aback slightly. "I didn't tell you because I wanted you to pity me! Don't you see, I don't deserve love, I don't deserve your sympathy… I told you because for whatever silly, stupid, insignificant reason we got married you're my wife, and you have the right to know!"

"I'm not doing this out of pity." She exclaimed. "If you don't want me to stay here, then you can come back to the Ukraine with me."

"But why?" House asked.

"Wilson wouldn't want you to be alone." She replied simply with a smile, and House smiled with this mention of his best friend's name – she was certainly right on that score.

"If he could be here now he'd be doing everything he could to make sure he was with you every step of the way… to make sure you weren't in any pain… I wouldn't be much of a wife if I left my husband to fend for himself in his time of most need now would I?" She asked.

"I'm… so scared…" House confessed, as he finally broke down and cried. The façade which he'd spent half a lifetime working to build up finally now beginning to crack.

"I know Greg." Dominika nodded, as she scooped her sobbing husband up into her own slender arms, crying silent tears alongside a man who'd finally broken under the sheer strain that the world had placed upon his shoulders, and hugging the distraught man tightly to her. "But I promise you, I won't leave you. I'm not going anywhere… it's what Wilson would have wanted. Everything's going to be alright!"


End file.
